


End of the Line

by KayleeFrye



Category: Dead Like Me, iZombie (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5461562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleeFrye/pseuds/KayleeFrye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What do you think is worse? Being a zombie, or being a grim reaper?” Liv asks.</p><p>Daisy smiles. "It’s the simple pleasures that make life worth living, Olivia, even if it’s only half a life.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of the Line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [in48frames](https://archiveofourown.org/users/in48frames/gifts).



> For the prompt, "Liv and Daisy meet (and maybe kiss)."

They're heading back to the morgue from the station when Ravi pauses and puts a hand on her elbow to stop her. “Hold up,” he says.

Liv tears her arm from his gentle grip and dusts her elbow off with a scowl. Her scowl deepens when she (her real self, buried under the dickishness of a movie producer who apparently thought he was the salt of the Earth and anyone else was unworthy of touching his highness--why can't she ever eat a nice, normal brain? How about a kindergarden teacher?) That would be lovely). She places a hand gently on Ravi's arm in a friendly gesture to compensate.

“Over there,” Ravi says, unfazed by Liv's alternavitely cold and hot movements. His head tilts thoughtfully as he peers at a fashionably dressed woman talking to the officer at the front desk. “Limp, dirty blond hair. Pale as the dead. Definitely a zombie, am I right?”

Liv lifts her $300 Armani sunglasses (the unexpected expenses when she consumes the brains of rich people with expensive tastes is definitely yet another downside to being a zombie) from her eyes and looks toward the woman he's eyeing. Luscious blond hair falls gracefully down her back, rosey cheeks and lips to match, pale skin and very white, sure, but not zombie, no colour remaining, white. Of course, that doesn't remove the possibility of Ravi's zombie theory, given the trend of zombies dying their hair and painting on daily spray-on tans to pass amongst the living (because hey, it may be the start of the zombie apocalypse, but at least Seattle's zombies have generously increased the market for spray-on tans), but it doesn't exactly match Ravi's description either.

“What are you talking about?” Liv says. “She’s completely gorgeous.”

“You and I have very different tastes in what makes a woman attractive. Are you sure being a zombie hasn’t alterted your taste in women?”

“No,” Liv says. “I’m talking supermodel gorgeous. 1950s southern bell movie star gorgeous.” (This, she later learns, is a surprisingly accurate assessment; she's only off by a couple decades). 

“Clearly, that's our dearly deceased movie producer peeking out at her, not you.“

“I'm not sure that it is. But, you know, Ravi, I should make a film. She can be the star, the hero, of my new film about the end of the world. Oh, she'll be fantastic.”

“Please tell me this will be a zombie apocalypse movie. An actual zombie making a zombie film—that's too perfect to pass up.”

The woman doesn't so much walk toward them, so much as she glides, as if on water. When she reaches them, she tucks her blond hair behind her ear and clasps her hands in front of her stomach and stands before them, prim and proper (and astoundingly beautiful, Liv thinks, but surely that's Dominic's addition to her assessment of the situation).

“Daisy,” the woman says, with a soft, small upturn of her pink lips. “Daisy Adair.”

Daisy holds her hand out to shake, dainty and poised, and before Liv can think, she takes the proffered hand, turns it over, and kisses the back of it. “Olivia Moore, but you, sweetness, may call me Liv.” Liv tries not to cringe. 'Sweetness', seriously? She's only been on Mr. Dominic Penner a couple hours and already she wants him out of her head. (Really, a nice, normal kindergarden teacher next time would be a great change—not that she's rooting for the untimely death or murder of innocent schoolteachers, of course).

“Liv Moore,” Dasy says slowly. Liv watches the way Daisy’s lips form around the name, annunciating slowly, the corners of her lips twisting like it’s a bad taste in her mouth. “Liv Moore. Live More. Oh, hunny, please tell me you’re joking.”

Liv rolls her eyes. It’s not as though Ravi hasn’t pointed this particular cruel, ironic twist of fate out to her on more than one occasion. It’s not as though she hadn’t put it together herself well before meeting him. Beside her, she hears Ravi snort, and elbows him gently. 

“I’ve always gone by Liv. I happen to like my name, thank you. What's the problem?”

“It's absurd, even for someone living. But for a zombie? Really, hunny, why are you still going by such a dreadful nickname?” Daisy shivers, as if the name 'Liv' physically harms her. “I think I’ll call you Olivia, if you don’t mind.”

Liv blanches (or would have if she had any colour in her skin left to lose) and opens her mouth in shock. Ravi nudges her arm pointedly.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Liv says. Oh, yes, very convincing, Liv; she'll never figure you out now! “And actually, I do mind.”

“Mind what, sweety?” Daisy asks.

“I mind if you call me Olivia,” Liv says, but Daisy’s already moved on.

“I know what you are,” Daisy says. “This charade of 'I don't know what you're talking about' really doesn't suit you, sweety. Listen, I’m sorry for everything that's happened to you. I was supposed to be your reaper. I was at the boat party, of course, but that's where everything started going wrong.”

“Reaper,” Ravi says. Liv eyes the enthused grin on his face and the gleam in his eyes warily; she knows where this is headed. “As in, grim reaper?”

Daisy turns her head to Ravi. Her smile is small and forced and Liv doesn't trust anything about it. Liv wants to stand between them, arms outstretched, and protect Ravi from the approaching shark. But Daisy's lips are small and delicate and rosey, and Liv also finds herself transfixed by them, and she really hopes that's just Dominic rearing his ugly head—unfortunately, she's not entirely sure that it's all him.

“And you must be the Doctor working on the cure,” Daisy says.

“Ravi Chakrabarti. You're aware of my work?” Ravi reaches out his hand to shake Daisy's enthusiastically.

Liv rolls her eyes. “She is not a grim reaper, Ravi. That's ridiculous. There's no such thing as grim reapers.”

“I think all bets as to what can and cannot exist went off the table as soon as zombies became a reality, Liv. Please ignore my friend's scepticism, Daisy. Oh, I have all kinds of questions for you.”

“That's nice,” Daisy says, but her attention has already returned to Liv. “Olivia, this is ground zero for the apocolypse. We are working on stopping this. Since I've been transferred to Seattle and was supposed to be your reaper, I've been chosen as your liason with the rest of the undead community while we, and you, continue searching for a cure.”

Ravi's smile is infectious. “Undead community, you say?”

**

Liv looks at Daisy critically. “You're saying every zombie is actually a person whose soul is trapped inside their dead body, because a group of grim reapers in Seattle didn't like their job and decided to rebel, and now death is partially broken, because most people's souls remove from their bodies just fine, and it's only people who come in contact with other zombies whose souls get stuck.”

“Yes,” says Daisy, examining her lavender painted nails carefully, and sounding far too chipper for Liv's liking.

“You know how that sounds, right?”

Ravi puts his hand to his chin thoughtfully. “It isn't necessarily as farfetched as it sounds—particularly once you consider that to most people, zombies are farfetched. And from our perspective, it doesn't necessarily change things. The so-called 'supernatural' components aren't mutually exclusive with the other medical symptoms we've observed. One day, we may well discover the science behind what Daisy's narrative brings to the table—in fact, that will be my next project, once we've found a cure for you, Liv. Scientifically, zombieism is still a virus, passed from patient to patient through physical contact, such as a scratch or sex. The soul being trapped in the body is merely an additional medical symptom for the phenomenon, and knowing that may actually prove useful down the line in the search for a cure.”

It isn't so much the outlandishness of the whole affair that bothers Liv—Ravi has a point: once you find out zombies are real, the realm of what is and isn't possible widens considerably. (For all Liv knows, maybe there's fairies out there somewhere, too. Zombies and grim reapers—who knows what else is out there?) The trouble is, she's never put much stock in fate; even now, even after her life being taken, Liv More makes her own destiny--takes the hand she is dealt, shitty as it is, and carves it into her own creation, finds a way to turn her curse into something that can still make a difference in the world. If Liv accepts Daisy's truth, then she has to accept that she was always going to go that party, that she never had a choice or as much control over her life as she thought, that there was always going to be a massacre, that whatever way you look at it, she isn't supposed to be here. 

“I was supposed to die,” Liv says. “I mean, I did, but I was supposed to be _dead_ dead. And if we find a cure... I don't think even you can bring someone back to life, Ravi.”

Daisy covers Liv's hand with her own. When she smiles, it's small and sad but entirely genuine. “I'm sorry.”

**

Liv twirls her fork in her hand, idly watching it spin around the tortellini brains and hot sauce concoction on her plate. Her other arm is upright on the table, her cheek resting in the palm of its hand. “What do you think is worse? Being a zombie, or being a grim reaper?”

There’s barely a space of breath before Daisy answers. “Zombie. Definitely.”

“Why?”

“I still get to enjoy this delicious chocolate cake. You can’t taste anything that isn’t hot sauce.” Daisy’s eyes flicker down briefly to Liv’s plate with a scowl. “That looks repulsive.”

“It is,” Liv agrees. “But what about your family? At least I can still keep mine in my undead life.”

“But did you really keep them? Sure, you see them, but you lost them, too.” Daisy shrugs. "My family is all dead now. Besides, it was only my sister I was ever close to--my parents didn't approve of my choices--and I lost her well before I died."

Daisy sucks a piece of cake from her fork, her eyes closing briefly in enjoyment. She smiles. "It’s the simple pleasures that make life worth living, Olivia, even if it’s only half a life.”

**

A necessary facet of survival after life unravelling via the _absolute delight_ that is being turned into a zombie is living in the present. Since she doesn't know who she'll be from one day to the next and her regularly changing personality is left up to fate (if “whoever gets murdered within the next week” can be considered fate, which, of course, it can't), living one day at a time, being useful where she can, is the only way to survive (Liv laughs at the word). There's no real future for a woman who's already dead.

Sometimes, she still makes plans—whenever her latest meal dreamed big, their aspirations become hers. She invests in stock, researches law school, very seriously contemplates running off to join the circus, drafts an outline for a novel, plans an extreme, rock climbing camping trip for herself, Ravi, Major, Peyton, and Daisy (who quickly becomes an integral part of their lives). The plans always fall through when the next brain comes along.

Liv is surprised and rather alarmed at how quickly she adjusts her mindset. She’s been living in the future since she was 10 years old, when she first mapped her life out: in high school, she'd get top marks, be in all the clubs, class President, graduate valedictorian; then it would be off to pre-med, followed by medical school, both of which she would graduate top of her class; she'd fall in love with the perfect person (she knew, even then, that she liked all genders), get married, have kids, save as many people as she could—save the entire world, if she could. One by one, she achieved every goal, until it was time to check "get married" off the list. 

Daisy's life wasn't much different; maybe it was another time, and maybe Daisy's dreams, on the surface, were more about fame and riches and being remembered than changing the world for the better, but Daisy had her life planned out, too: become a famous and talented actress, get rich from her work, and, most importantly, find love.

They both died, suddenly and tragically and painfully. They both had their dreams ripped from their chests, when they were so close to achieving them.

Becoming a zombie changed Liv—not just physically, but emotionally, too, flipped her entire world upsidedown. She uses her sarcasm the same way Daisy uses her sexuality: to hide hurt, to carry on, to keep smiling and crawl to the next day.

 _We belong with our own kind_ , Liv had told Major. Her words still ring her skull, and she can't quite believe she's broken Major's heart a second time, but she knows it was the right thing.

Daisy may not be a zombie, but she isn't one of the living, either. She may not understand the push and pull of a brain other than her own fighting for control of her body and mind, the fight to maintain identity in the face of a revolving door of invading personalities, but she knows what it is to lose herself. She understands death in a way Major never could, touches it every day and strives, in her own way, to be useful, despite being dead, despite being a Grim Reaper, and despite how hard she tries to hide how much she cares.

**

“His name was Mason,” Daisy says over coffee one morning. “I was transferred to Seattle after his quota was filled.”

Liv sits with her hands cupped around her own mug of coffee; she can't smell it or taste it, but it's warm and comforting and familiar to her cold, dead hands just the same. “Tell me about him.”

Daisy laughs, a small huff of breath through her nose. “He was... infuriating, honestly. But he made me laugh, and he never gave up on me. He was the first person to ever love me. And he taught me to love myself. He taught me it's safe to show love to those I care about. And then his quota was filled, and he was gone.

“And you didn't get to say good-bye?”

Daisy shakes her head slowly, her hair falling from behind her ear to grace her cheek. “We're reapers, Olivia. We do our job, and when we're done— we're done, and we just go. No warning.”

“That's awful.”

Liv reaches across the table to tuck the fallen strands of hair back behind Daisy's ear. Liv leaves her hand resting against Daisy's cheek. Daisy smiles sadly, and leans into Liv's touch. “Is it all that different from life? No one gets warning before they die.

"Thank you for listening, Olivia.”

**

It takes time, but Liv finds she doesn’t mind when Daisy calls her ‘Olivia’. Daisy says ‘Olivia’ in the same voice she uses when she’s discussing her acting, passionate and adoring. Daisy says ‘Olivia’ like it’s the only name she ever wants to say again, like sunshine after a cloudy day. Liv, when she's Liv, thinks Daisy’s voice is a bit like wind chimes singing in a gentle breeze, and she wants that voice, those lips, to keep saying her name with that joy.

“Olivia,” Daisy greets Liv in the morgue in the morning.

“Good night, Olivia,” Daisy says over the phone at midnight, after a long, frustrating, and futile day at the morgue trying to find a cure.

“I love you, Olivia,” Daisy says as they sit on a bench in the park, waiting for Ravi to join them. She kisses Liv on the cheek and squeezes their hands together. And Liv shouldn't be able to feel anything, but her cheek tingles where Daisy's lips brush against her, and if she were alive, she knows she'd be blushing. With her hand still in Daisy's, Liv turns, and watches Daisy's mouth grow into an uncharacteristically shy smile. It speaks, Liv thinks, to the depth and genuine nature of Daisy's feelings, that she would go for a soft, gentle kiss on the cheek, instead of something more. 

Daisy's lips are rosey as ever. Liv leans forward, presses her own lips gently to Daisy's. Daisy's mouth is soft and warm and inviting, and Liv doesn't think she ever wants to part from them.

**

It’s the end of the world, but I feel fine, Liv thinks. It’s the end of the world, or it might be, if she and Ravi can't find a cure, but at least she found love again, at least she has Daisy. Zombie and grim reaper face the appending apocalypse with their hands clasped tight together.


End file.
